Winter
by Merilsell
Summary: "The Arl used to come to Denerim in winter. I...slept with the hounds." Various snippets of Alistair's not-so-cheery childhood. Taken from my main FF, but can stand and read on its own. Now updated with another story.
1. Winter

Denerim.

Eamon always came here in winter. For politics, the Landsmeet. Things Alistair didn't understand. He had been just excited that he, for the first time in his life, was allowed to accompany his foster father to see Ferelden's capital.

He had heard stories from the other stable boys before their departure, of course. Fables of a marketplace as huge as Redcliffe itself, of candied apples, and rats as big as Mabari hounds. Alistair hadn't seen a Denerim rat just yet, but the buildings, trees, and streets were bigger and wider than anything he had seen before. It only made sense to him that everything had to be huge because the palace with the king was also in this city. The gray stone castle rose high into the air and was visible from far away, even from his seat in the cart when they arrived.

Alistair wondered if the king ever would get lost in his grand castle with all these rooms, but Eamon had him forbidden to come with him there, like so much else. There were many rooms in Eamon's estate—not as many as in the palace—but for Alistair, there were still none free. Isolde's face had instantly changed color and she had begun to sputter foreign words in her high screeching voice when she saw how he ran through all the rooms with his muddy boots. That was the point where Alistair knew he was in trouble. And yet, he couldn't understand why it had been wrong to be excited. It was the first time he ever had left Redcliffe, after all. Eamon had scolded him for his mistake and now he wasn't allowed to go inside anymore.

Alistair tried to distract himself from the fact that it started to grow dark and thought about how great it would be to be king. Then he would have people doing all the work for him and everyone had to be nice to him. He could order all food he ever wanted, even the biggest cheese or cake and no one would _dare_ to tell him to stop eating.

The growling of his stomach interrupted his thoughts and he pressed himself more into the corner of the kennel. He had found out that the cold wind couldn't reach him there. He looked down at the golem doll—_figurine_—Eamon had given him earlier and wished it were something to eat. He hadn't eaten much today, had mostly forgotten it while running excited through the large streets, trying to see all at once. Alistair had enjoyed this freedom. No one told him what to do and no stupid Isolde or Eamon scolded him for trivial things. For a few hours, he could pretend to be king and the many figures he built of snow were his faithful subjects.

It had ceased to be fun when the sun was slowly going down and the place shrouded itself in scary shadows. Eamon had no stable of his own here in Denerim, but a Mabari kennel in the courtyard of his mansion. So Alistair thought it would be a good idea to go there, for at least he wouldn't be alone in the night.

Alistair shuddered and one of the big Mabari there whined and inched closer to him. He touched its black, thick fur, buried his hands into it to feel the warmth, stroking it. The hound moved closer still, its body warm and solid against his. It licked over his face to give solace in its canine way.

Alistair decided he liked dogs.

There was peace here, among the Mabari. None of them scolded him or cared if he was not a noble, but a mere bastard. They liked him how he was, unconditionally. They were better than all stupid Eamon and Isolde's and people, who looked at him with disdain and would never accept him for what he was.

A simple, lonely boy left outside during winter.


	2. Not Welcomed

_**A/N:** This snippet of Alistair's past is part of the chapter I write atm, but can wonderfully stand on its own._

* * *

><p>"Ah, there you are, Alistair. Sit down."<p>

The boy hesitated before taking up on Eamon's offer, placing himself into the huge, luxury chair within the Arl's study. He saw him wrinkling his nose, probably at the stench of horse dung that came from his still too little form. A smell that wasn't even recognizable to Alistair anymore after working in the stables day after day and even sleeping among the horses. It became natural to him after all the years, but he could see how it was bothersome to the finer nose of an Arl.

Alistair wasn't sure why Eamon was requesting his presence, especially after weeks of...ignoring him completely. Its news and urgency came completely surprising to the boy, so that he didn't have time to change his working clothes or to clean up before the meeting. The expensive furniture and red velvet carpet were stained with mud of his boots and trousers, but the boy was too agitated to really pay heed to it. He only hoped that he didn't make a mistake, that the stableman hadn't complained about him.

Cautiously, the boy lifted his head, looking at Eamon. "Is something wrong, ser?"

The Arl smiled at him and started to pace up and down. "No not at all. You have been a good boy and therefore I want you to introduce to someone." He nodded to the servant waiting at the door, who turned and opened it at Eamon's gesture. An elder woman entered, her dark hair strayed with grey, the mild expression of her face lined with wrinkles. Her movements were dignified and she wore a fine, deep orange robe that Alistair recognized as something a person of the Chantry would wear. It only confused him more, because what would someone from the chantry want to see him? He felt her gaze resting on him. The steel blue of her eyes adapting a disdainful but also curious note while observing his form. Alistair shifted in the chair, feeling more and more uncomfortable with every moment.

"This is Sister Rabella, from the chantry of Denerim." Eamon introduced her and the woman nodded politely toward the Arl. "I wanted you to meet her."

Alistair's gaze flung first to her than to his foster father,. "Why?"

"Because you deserve...education. To be able to write and read, maybe even become a Templar."

"He seems to be a fine lad – if a bit dirty and skinny – but I'm sure he can be learn a lot within our order." Alistair felt seized by her gaze as if she would estimate the value of a prized Mabari.

He shuddered at this thought. "I'm very much satisfied at how things are now, ser. I love working in the stable."

Eamon's gaze grew harder on the boy, something Alistair couldn't withstand for long. He lowered his eyes, looked at his muddied boots. The Arl's voice had adapted the same adamant note. "I fear there isn't much choice in this matter for you, Alistair. You can't stay here any longer. My wife...she is expecting and – "

"So you send me away?" Anger flared in his system and he found himself standing all the sudden, The blood pumped hot through his veins and he spoke before he could stop himself. "Because of _that_ shrew?"

Alistair saw Eamon instantly stepping closer and instinctively flinched, awaiting a punishment that didn't come. The Arl was trembling with indignation and the restrain of not slapping Alistair in front of his honored guest. "Watch your tongue, boy! You are speaking about the Arlessa and I won't tolerate your tone!"

Alistair sneered as he raised his chin to meet the Arl's eyes in defiance, a slight feeling of triumph swarming him. "Why? She is still so stupid to believe that I'm your bastard, after all." Right after finishing his sentence, Eamon's hand came up hard and fast, hitting him square across the face. The impact of it made Alistair reel backward, sending the amulet around his neck flying on the floor.

"You are going to leave this afternoon with Sister Rabella, no talking back!" Eamon was screaming now, heedless of the other person in the room. He took a deep breath and calmed his tone and bearing, before continuing, "It is the best for us all. And now leave and pack your things!"

_You are not welcomed here any longer_, Alistair's mind added for the Arl and a hot wrath and despair settled within his stomach with a burn. Had he ever been welcomed here in the first place? Was he ever wanted? Even if he was just a simple commoner and not worth much, _this_ here – Redcliffe – was all he ever had and knew. It was his _home_ and now Eamon wanted to send him away from it, from _everything_. Alistair didn't want to leave and would rather stay. But no one asked him what _he_ wanted, never had. He always had to comply to wishes of others, because he was just a commoner, a nobody. Maybe it was even better to go, in this way he wouldn't bother Eamon any longer.

Alistair felt tears welling behind his eyes as he picked his mother's amulet up from the ground. A sudden anger flooded him and he clawed it into his hands until it started to hurt. Pain was good, a distraction hindering him to cry. He wouldn't do that, wouldn't show Eamon how he felt. It was not as if the Arl was interested in him anyway or how he felt. The boy glanced at the simply jewelry in his hand and observed the holy symbol of Andraste within.

It reminded him of the chantry. The place where he had to live from now on. It was as if even his most precious belonging was mocking him and telling what to do. His gaze turned into a hard glare and he hauled out to smash the amulet with a scream against the nearest wall. It burst into myriads of pieces, but Alistair didn't care. Trembling with seething ire, the boy started to laugh, its tone cold and detached.

If they want him to go, he would, but that would be the last thing he'd _ever _do for them. Alistair turned and stormed out of Eamon's study into the direction of the stable, the anger slowly subsiding for disappointed defiance.

_Screw them. Screw them all. _

He didn't need _anyone_.


End file.
